Page 16 of Cold Bastard
Looking for complete international identity package. Female, age 22-25, no criminal record. Need birth certificate, SSN, driver’s license, passport, credit history. Willing to pay premium for fast turnaround and quality work. Can provide photo and physical details. Payment in Bitcoin—can do full amount up front if necessary for expedited service.
I read it over twice, making sure I hadn’t included anything that could identify me. No names, no locations, no details that could be traced back. Just a buyer looking for a product, the same as a thousand other people on this marketplace.
My finger hovered over the send button.
This was it. The point of no return. Once I sent this message, I was committed. I was actively trying to disappear, to become someone else, to erase Alexandra Jones from existence.
Part of me wanted to hesitate. To think about what I was giving up. My name, my history, the few good memories I had buried under all the shit. Oscar. The brother who raised me, who tried his best even when his best wasn’t enough. But then I thought about Michael’s hands on me. The way he looked at me, as if I belonged to him, his property. The other girls at the club, dead-eyed and broken, who danced for men who saw them as nothing more than objects to be used and discarded.
I thought about the money. About what it represented. Not just freedom, but revenge. A middle finger to every man who had ever thought he owned me. Then I hit send.
The message disappeared into the void, carried through layers of encryption and anonymity to someone, somewhere, who made their living helping people like me vanish.
Now came the waiting.
I closed my laptop and shoved it back into my backpack, then lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. My heart was racing, adrenaline singing through my veins.
I had done it. I’d taken the first real step toward getting out.
A knock on the door made me jump.
“Alex?” Oscar’s voice, muffled through the wood. “You okay in there?”
I sat up, forcing my voice to sound normal. “Yeah. Just tired. Long drive.”
“You need anything? Food? Water?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just gonna sleep.”
A pause. I could picture him standing there, hand on the doorknob, debating whether to push. Oscar had always been able to tell when I was lying, even when we were kids.
It was like he had a sixth sense for my bullshit.
“Alright,” he finally said. “I’m right down the hall if you need me. And, Alex? I’m glad you’re home. Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out. Family takes care of family.”
His words hit harder than they should have. Family. The thing I had run from. The thing I was about to betray all over again.
“Thanks, Oscar,” I said, and meant it, even though I knew I would be gone before he could make good on that promise. His footsteps retreated down the hall, and I waited until I heard his door close before I let out the breath I had been holding.
I pulled out my phone. A burner I picked up in Kansas, paid for with cash, and checked the time. 11:47 PM. In a few hours, someone on the other side of the world would wake up, check their messages, and see my request. They would evaluatewhether I was worth the risk, whether my money was real, whether I was a cop or a scammer, or just another desperate person trying to outrun their past. And then they would respond.
Or they wouldn’t.
Either way, I would know soon enough.
I set an alarm for 3 AM and closed my eyes, though I knew I wouldn’t sleep. My mind was already racing ahead, planning the next steps. How to convert some of the money to Bitcoin without leaving a trail. How to receive the documents without them being traced to this address. How to slip away from the clubhouse without Oscar noticing.
How to become someone else.
Outside, a motorcycle roared to life. The sound cut through the night. Someone was leaving, or arriving, or just riding because that was what brothers did when the walls closed in.
I understood that feeling. The need to move, to run, to put miles between myself and the things that haunted me.Soon, I told myself. Soon I would be on my bike, or a bus, or a plane, heading somewhere far away from Athens, Texas. Somewhere no one could find me. Somewhere my past couldn’t reach me.
I just had to survive long enough to get there.
Three AM couldn’t come fast enough. I needed that new identity. I needed it yesterday. Because the clock was ticking, and somewhere out there, someone was looking for their seventy-five million dollars.
And if I had anything to say about it, they would never find it.
